Traffic on the I-15 on this Tuesday morning was primarily comprised of big rigs, with a healthy mixture of summer vacationers, in their RVs or pulling trailers. Brass was making good time, and figured that if he continued to push the speed limit, it would take him just under an hour to cover the eighty miles to Mesquite. Nothing significant, just a nickle or dime over the posted miles per hour, and he wasn't actually travelling that much faster than the flow around him.
The extraction used on the letter from Denny's safe had given them nothing. Too much time had elapsed between Denny's opening it, and its finding its way to the CSI lab. Brass had been disappointed, but in truth he hadn't placed too much hope on them uncovering anything case-breaking from the procedure. He had accepted the news, and forged on, and today he was following up a different angle.
The sky was a deep, solid blue, not a cloud in sight. He had the air conditioning on in the car, since it was a balmly ninety-two outside. Standard weather for southern Nevada at this time of year. Brass set the cruise control, glancing at the GPS screen. He would stay on the interstate, northeast all the way into Mesquite, and then take exit 120.
Sharon Gracin wouldn't be expecting his visit. He had telephoned earlier, just to ascertain that she was home, and not out of town, hanging up when she had answered. Brass had no idea how much time he had left before the killer would make a move, and he didn't want to waste a moment of it.
Almost ten years had passed since the Holiday Murders, and Todd Juneau's death. If Juneau had had a partner, Brass was about a decade too late to be looking for him, but he had to try. The file had indicated that Juneau's next of kin had been a sister, Sharon Gracin, living in Mesquite. He had had no other living relatives. Perhaps the sister would recall who Juneau's friends had been at the time. Might give him a couple of names to start tracking down. It was a place to start. Brass had traced her through her driver's license, which showed her still living in Mesquite, though at a different address than the one from nine years ago.
He hadn't wanted to conduct an interview over the phone or even to let her know he was coming. Brass wanted to see her in person. To get a sense of who she was. To see her expressions and reactions to his questions. As the next of kin, she might still have many of Juneau's personal items, the non-evidenciary ones that had been released following the case's conclusion. Brass didn't have a warrant, but perhaps he could convince her to voluntarily turn over to him anything of her late brother's. They hadn't been looking for a partner the first time around, and with fresh eyes he might see something they had missed.
All of this hinged on whether or not Gracin would even talk to him, Brass knew. Her brother had been shot and killed by police, however justified the shooting. He hadn't had his day in court; hadn't gotten his fair trial. Even though Internal Affairs had ruled Takei's shooting of Juneau as justifiable self-defense, and stated that Takei had been in reasonable fear for his own life and the lives of others, sometimes those close to the deceased could not accept such a finding. Unable to believe their loved one capable of wrongdoing, or having a history that made them suspicious of cops, sometimes grief-stricken or angry friends or family would rally to rant about injustice or police brutality.
That hadn't happened following Juneau's death though. As far as Brass could recall, there hadn't even been anyone else present at the inquest, except for those in law enforcement, and the television hounds and newspaper reporters who had covered the story. No one had protested the shooting, not family or the media. He didn't even think that the sister had come to Vegas at all in those weeks after the shooting. She certainly hadn't made any waves, if she had.
A car cut in front of Brass then, a small, silver Chevy, its driver having gotten impatient at following behind the livestock truck in the centre lane. Deciding to pass, it just moved over suddenly and then slowed abruptly, without the driver indicating with his signal, or even glancing over his shoulder to check his blind spot. Jim touched the brake at once, lightly to slow the sedan, disengaging the cruise. Automatically, he glanced into the rear-view mirror to see how closely the car following was to his bumper, ready to steer off onto the shoulder if his reactionary slowing put him at risk of being rear-ended. There was a Jeep further back in his lane, but there was plenty of space between them. The Chevy accelerated ahead of him and the detective just shook his head.
Jerk. Some people just didn't have a clue. No harm done though. Thankfully the sedan was well-maintained and the brakes were good. Watching the white line fly past, Jim had a sudden disquieting thought. How easy it would be for someone to access his undergound parking at the apartment, and to tamper with his vehicle. To fray a brake line. Traffic accidents occured routinely. Despite the comfortable temperature inside the sedan, Brass broke out in a sweat.
That hadn't happened of course. Not this time, at least. Brass felt the anger and the frustration once more. How was he ever going to safeguard against all of the potential dangers? The more that he thought about it, the more he wondered whether or not, even if they had known they were being targeted, the other detectives could have remained safe. How could anyone possibly anticipate all of the ways that a contrived accident could befall him?
It didn't seem likely that the cop-killer would leave the planning of Jim's demise to such chance though. Losing his brakes could be bad, very bad, and even fatal at a busy intersection, or at highway speeds. But there were too many variables that couldn't be controlled. That didn't seem to fit the killer's profile, not from what Ronnie had told him yesterday. Icicle killers were cold and calculating. The guy wasn't aiming for an injury. He wouldn't want to have to make a second attempt. That would arouse suspicion, and in that case the whole element of a seemingly accidental death, which seemed important to the killer, would be lost.
Brass was so tired of second-guessing everything. He had lain in bed last night, arms crossed behind his head, trying to go over details of the case in his mind. But all that he had been able to think about was what might happen the moment he closed his eyes. He kept internalizing and if he didn't put a stop to that, he was never going to solve this thing. He couldn't keep jumping at shadows, and glaring suspiciously at strangers. Jim would have to trust that his senses and intuition were good...they had kept him alive for this long...and he would have to be confident that when the killer made a move, he would recognize it for what it was.
Otherwise...he was going to drive himself crazy. He wouldn't be able to do his job, and he might as well recluse himself from the case. Just lock himself in his apartment and sit there and wait for the Grim Reaper to knock. No way! Brass was not going down without one heck of a fight. He was going to be pro-active. With Gil and Catherine's help he was going to solve this thing.
The rest of the journey to Mesquite was uneventful. He concentrated on the natural beauty of the area. The Virgin River Valley was picturesque. Cecilia would love it, Brass thought with an empty pang. He hadn't seen or spoken to her since early yesterday morning when he had driven her out of his home, and out of his life. He missed her. As he had finally drifted off to sleep last night, Jim had breathed in the now familiar, sweet scent of her, still lingering on his pillows and sheets. The experience had been bittersweet.
Finally he was exiting on 120, to the Falcon Ridge Parkway. The GPS system guided him to make a right on West Pioneer Blvd., and Sharon Gracin's apartment would be just moments ahead on the left. Mesquite was a pretty place. There were big city attractions with a small town feel. The population here was less than twenty thousand, compared to the half a million people who called Las Vegas home. There were all of the same amenities, twenty-four hour gaming, golf courses and spas. But the cost of housing was much cheaper here.
If it wasn't for the commute, Jim would have bought a place in Mesquite. Not that he minded the driving, he enjoyed it in fact, and was comfortable doing it. Also, it was the I-15 all the way, not the frustration of stop-and-go. But there was no way that he could afford to be an hour away from work. Sometimes he could get called in, and they needed him there pronto.
Gracin's building was a small, square four-storey, white stucco, with big balconies for every unit. It was well-kept, and the halls held the not unpleasant odour of having been recently painted with an oil-based off-white.
"Sharon Gracin?"
She stood in the doorway, regarding him calmly from lovely, violet eyes in an ample, pretty visage framed with very curly black hair. "Yes," she replied curiously. Jim didn't see much of a family resemblance, except for the hair. Juneau had had thick, curly, black hair as well.
He flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police Department. I'm sorry to just drop by like this, but I was hoping that I might be able to talk to you for a few minutes." He smiled, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.
She was clearly perplexed. Surprised, but with none of the guilt that even the most innocent of citizens often reflected when the cops showed unexpectedly at their door. "Las Vegas police? What is this about?"
This was it. She would either allow him in, or slam the door in his face. "It's about your late brother, Mrs. Gracin, Todd Juneau."
There was a barely audible gasp, and then she just stood looking at him for several moments, with a stunned expression. Finally, she stepped back. "Come in."
He followed her into a decent-sized living area, a bit untidy with clutter, but clean. There were plants everywhere, greenery, dripping from hanging baskets along the big window that caught the afternoon sun, and standing on every available bit of surface on bookcases, shelves and tables. "Someone has a green thumb," he commented in a friendly tone, trying to put her at ease.
"Yes," she said simply. Then, "Just a minute, before you start. Maddy!" she called out, raising her voice.
A young girl of about ten or eleven came down the hall from the opposite end of the apartment. Sharon Gracin reached for her purse, on the floor next to the sofa. She extracted a couple of bills, while the child stood expectantly, looking questioningly at the detective.
"Maddy, why don't you go call on Emily and see if she'd like to go to the Dairy Queen for an icecream," the woman suggested lightly. "You can treat her." The girl's eyes lit up, and she happily accepted the money before bounding out of the apartment with the enthusiasm and energy of youth.
Once the child had gone, she resumed the conversation with Brass. "She doesn't need to hear any of this. So what brings you here, after all of this time, to talk about Todd?" Her tone was cool. Sharon Gracin did not sit nor suggest that he do so either.
"I have new evidence to suggest that he might have had a partner who was also culpable in the deaths of those three women," Brass said carefully. He had to tread lightly here.
"A partner?" she repeated dully. "What makes you think that?"
Brass shrugged. "This is an active investigation, and I'm sorry that I'm not at liberty to give details."
Her violet gaze was piercing. "Active investigation? Todd is dead. Those murders were almost ten years ago. The police found their killer. Todd tried to escape, he threatened an officer, and he was shot dead. What more can there possibly be?" She studied him.
"I need to talk to anyone he might have been friends with at that time," Brass continued, pretending that the question was rhetorical. "I was hoping you might be able to help me locate them. Anything would be a help. Addresses. Names."
"There was never even a mention of a possible partner at the time," Sharon Gracin said quietly. "Something has happened, hasn't it? Has another woman been killed? And is there something about the murder that you think is just like what happened to those other three women?" He found that he couldn't look away from the intensity of her stare. "You know, I never did believe that my brother murdered those women."
Brass waited for the censure and anger that was sure to come. Condemnation that they had gotten the wrong man.
Instead, the woman turned and walked slowly over to the window that overlooked the rear parking lot. She reached up to touch the emerald and yellow tendrils of a snake plant, before reaching to check the moisture level of the soil in a potted jade on the windowsill. Her plump back was to him, her curly, dark hair hanging on her shoulders.
When Sharon Gracin spoke again, her voice was strained. "He was a damaged man, my brother. There was something bad inside of him. There always had been, ever since he was a boy. Something selfish and twisted." Brass took a step or two closer. "He was always the favourite. Our mom died when I was four, and Todd was eight. Our dad raised us. We grew up in Arizona. Window Rock. He spoiled Todd. My brother could do no wrong, had no consequences for his behaviours.
"I don't know if there was even anything my dad could have done. I think some people are just born like that. But dad didn't even try, and so that just made things worse. It made Todd worse." She fussed with the jade, using her fingers to dust the thick leaves of the succulent.
"When I was eleven years old, I woke up one night, and Todd was in my bed." Her voice had gotten so low that Jim had to move even closer to catch all of the words. "He...he violated me. He didn't actually rape me, there was no...he didn't..."
"I understand what you mean," Brass said softly, reaching to briefly touch the small of her back in a comforting gesture. He felt heartsick at her disclosure. He knew the statistics, of how many girls were sexually abused, usually by someone they knew and often by someone they should have been able to trust.
"But he...touched me...and he...touched himself. Whispered all kinds of terrible, dirty things. Afterwards, I told my dad, but he didn't believe me. He called me a liar." There was a catch in her voice. "I...stripped the sheet off my bed, and took it to him. Proof. Todd said...horrible things. That I had encouraged him. Lead him on. I swear, I hadn't. I was only eleven, I would even have known how. And besides he was my brother. He called me a slut. My dad said that if I ever told anyone they would come and take me away and put me in a foster home. That I could never come home again, or ever see my friends."
Jim's throat got tight. Christ! What was wrong with some parents? He knew that he was never going to get a Father of the Year award himself, probably didn't even deserve to have a kid, but there were some people that just made a total mockery of the title. Brass ached for the fear and sorrow of the child that Sharon Gracin had been.
"There were other...occasions...like that. And the rest of the time, he would always watch me, with this strange look on his face. I always felt like a fly caught in a web. Todd didn't date much, but I remember one girlfriend he had. I can't even recall her name any more, but I can see her face. Not too bright, but real sweet. A cute blonde. He liked blondes." Brass thought immediately of Marilyn Hegel. "There were rumours that he...that he assaulted her. Not...intercourse. But like...like what he did to me. He broke into her basement bedroom at home. There was talk that she and her parents were going to go to the police, but they never did. I think my dad must have gotten involved. Protected Todd again, somehow."
"I'm so sorry, for what you had to go through," Brass told her quietly.
"I left home when I was sixteen. Ran off with Maddy's dad. We're still together, believe it or not." Sharon Gracin turned away from the window then. "Todd was...sick. But I just never believed that he killed those women. He was never violent." She was standing just inches from Brass now, and held his gaze. "But when I heard that cop had shot him, I was glad." She raised her head defiantly. "Maddy was eighteen months old then. All I could think about, was that I would never have to worry about Todd abusing her. Or anyone else. Not ever again."
So that was why she had never spoken out following Juneau's death. And the father, Raymond Juneau, Todd's protector, had died the year before the Holiday Murders. Brass knew that the crimes of sexual predators often escalated over time. Juneau had been exposing himself to porn that was steadily more violent and more degrading to the women in the films. The detective had worked enough cases to understand that over time the viewer could become desensitized, and what had previously been satisfying would no longer be, so that increasingly graphic and unsettling images were needed to fire the libido and ensure a release. And then one day, fantasies weren't enough anymore either. If it had been years since Sharon had had any contact with her brother, he could have changed significantly during that time.
"I suppose it's possible he could have had a partner. Hooked up with someone else," she admitted though she sounded doubtful.
Someone with the same proclivities for deviance, Brass thought.
"He called me, the morning of the day that he was shot," Sharon said then. Brass was taken aback. "From a pay phone in Vegas. I could hear the traffic and noise of the Strip in the background. He was desperate. Frightened. He said that the police had the wrong guy, that he hadn't hurt those women." She sighed. "I couldn't believe that he had the gall to call me. I hadn't seen or spoken to him in five years. I guess he just didn't have anyone else. He knew Kevin's last name...that's my husband, Kevin Gracin, and we don't have an unlisted number or anything, so I suppose he looked us up.
"He was crying, swearing up and down that they were wrong about him. He wanted to borrow money," she told Brass with a disbelieving shake of her head. "Said that he had to go to Mexico for a while, and lay low til they found the real killer."
"Did you give him any money?" Brass asked. "See him at all?"
"No, of course not!" she snorted. "Kevin took the phone and told Todd he had better turn himself in, that it was time to face the music." She blushed a bit now. "Kevin knew what Todd had done to me when I was younger. He's still angry about it, even today. He...he told Todd that if he believed in God he'd better get on his knees and pray for mercy. Because prison is a bad place, and the guys in there would love some fresh meat, and Todd was finally going to get his. He wanted to scare him. Payback, I guess."
Brass had a sense of deja vu. Sharon Gracin's husband had said something to his brother-in-law that was very similar to the words Jim had spoken to Michael Strickland in the interrogation room that day. He could understand what had motivated the other man. "You didn't call the police, after you heard from Todd?" Brass asked. "Even though you knew he was a suspect in a murder case?"
"Kevin just hung up on him. I said that we should call the police. He insisted that there was no point. We didn't know anything. Todd had called from a pay phone, and would be long gone before the police could even begin to look for him. Kevin said that we'd get dragged into it. We'd be on the news. Everyone would know us, and know that my brother was a serial killer. Maddy's uncle. There could be a backlash in the community. He wasn't going to risk that. Not when there was nothing we could do to help." She held her head high, unapologetic for her husband's reasoning.
Brass nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, Kevin Gracin had been right.
"For Todd to call here, he had no where else to turn. No one else to turn to," Sharon stated her conviction. "If he'd killed those women, if he'd had a partner, he wouldn't have tried to get help from me." She tilted her head slightly. "There was one more thing. He said that he loved her. The cashier. The one that he worked with. I've forgotten her name. He said that he hadn't hurt her." She sighed. "I believed him. Not about the loving her, I don't think he was even capable of that. Not really. But I believed that he hadn't killed her. I'd heard enough of his lies over the years, to know when he was telling the truth."
"And yet you never came forward, never told police about the phone call, or said anything about believing in his innocence?" Brass asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.
"He was dead. He resisted arrest. He was stupid enough to pull a toy gun on an armed policeman. He got what he deserved. I'm not going to pretend that I mourned him. And anyways, the killings stopped. Didn't they?" Sharon asked, raising a dark brow. "So either way, it didn't really seem to matter whether he was guilty or not."
Brass clenched his jaw. Would it have made any difference? If Sharon Gracin had come forward at the time, if she had told Jim then what she was telling him now, would he have listened to her? Would he have cared? Would it have changed his perception of what had happened? Or would he just have taken her statement, and then discounted it. They had gotten their guy. There had been no more murders. Nothing she had told him now, would have changed his mind then, Brass admitted to himself.
"Which brings us back to why you're here. Do you have a reason to think that maybe Todd didn't kill those women, Detective Brass?" Sharon asked with interest. Jim was silent. "Don't worry," she said with a humourless laugh, "I'm not going to sue the department for wrongful death or anything. When Todd was killed, the Las Vegas police did me a favour. I used to have nightmares, sometimes. About what he did to me. Anxiety attacks, worrying about Maddy. I haven't had either since that day.
"You probably think I'm a horrible person," she continued. Brass shook his head. "Anyhow, I'm sorry but I can't help you. I have no idea who Todd's friends were, if he even had any at all."
"As next of kin, Todd's personal effects were sent to you," Jim stated. "I was wondering if I could take a look at them."
"I threw them out the day they arrived, without even looking at them. I didn't want anything of his," Sharon said, her upper lip curling in revulsion.
Jim's gut twisted. If there had been any evidence of a partner among Juneau's things, it was long gone. "Well, thank you for your time," the detective said then. "I appreciate your talking with me."
"Whatever or whoever you're looking for," she told him, "I hope you find it. I know Todd wasn't unique, that there are some terrible people out there. But some of them, are even worse than he was."
Her words echoed in Jim's head as he began the drive back to Las Vegas. He wasn't sure whether or not coming here had yielded anything helpful or not. He had learned something new, that Todd Juneau had called his sister the day that he had died. And that Sharon Gracin believed her brother innocent of the Holiday Murders. Of course, it was natural for people to have a difficult time accepting that a loved one might be guilty of a heinous offense. It was normal for people to be blindly loyal, even in the face of overwhelming evidence, when someone that they cared for was in trouble.
Except...Sharon Gracin hadn't loved her brother. He had abused her growing up. She had every reason to despise him. No reason to protect his reputation. She thought that he was an awful person, and part of her was glad that Todd Juneau was dead. And still, despite all of that, and despite what he had done to her, she did not really believe that he had killed those three women nine years ago. That, Brass knew, was different from the normal denial he often saw among friends and family. Her belief in Todd Juneau's innocence was...compelling.
Perhaps Catherine or Gil would have something more conclusive for him, after reviewing the physical evidence from the old case. Something to link Juneau to the victims beyond the shadow of a doubt. Because now, Brass realized uneasily, as the sedan breezed along the interstate, he was beginning to seriously doubt for the first time whether or not they had gone after the wrong man nine years ago.